Fortune
by rubberbird
Summary: Logan/Prince. Logan has a sleeping draught and some baddd thoughts. Slash. Incest. Non-con.


A/N: This is, without a doubt, the most messed up thing I have ever written. I was quite stunned by my own depravity. But it was such fun xD Slash, rape, incest warnings. You really have been warned. Don't read, if you can't handle it. Simple as that. Don't leave me "that was so fucked up" reviews. I KNOW IT'S FUCKED UP. Tell me something I don't know.

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Fortune

Logan paced the length of his study again. The silence in the castle was almost complete, except for the soft moans of the floorboards. And the distant sounds of the town. He didn't know how long he had been in there. Perhaps an hour, perhaps five. It was impossible to tell. The gloom sent a shadow over the face of the grandfather clock stood proudly by the door and he wouldn't let the maid in to light the paraffin lamps. He had just one solitary candle on his desk, a tiny yellow ball of light.

Solitude wasn't just a desire any longer, it was a need. People increasingly disgusted him, with their vices, their greed, their selfishness. If only he could close off the part of himself which yearned for their approval.

He cast his eyes up to the portrait which hung proudly above the dying embers in the fireplace. It was barely visible in the darkness but he had looked at it so often that it was imprinted in his mind's eye. Two brothers side by side, young and handsome and happy. How he hated that painting. He would have cast it in the fire if a part of him hadn't balked at the idea of doing something so telling of his own doubts.

He hated it. Not because it showed him as he had once been, but because it was a constant reminder that the sick vice, the terrible desire which drove him to seek solitude day after day was still inside of him, poisoning his every thought. Who could have understood that the person Logan most desired, who seared him to the core with sickening lust was also his brother?

He turned away in disgust. Not at himself. He hadn't chosen to feel these unnatural yearnings, his disgust was at fortune. Fortune, the depraved bitch, had handed him yet another cruel, bitter hand to play. She must have laughed to see her puppet driven half to madness with lust and self-loathing.

He turned and walked to the door, one hand tentatively taking the handle. There would be a guard outside, but no one else. The castle would be silent and still. Free of people and their constant questions, demands, fears, needs, wants. He opened the door and stepped out; the guard was half asleep but stood hurriedly to attention as his monarch passed him without a glance.

Somewhere down this corridor his prince was undressing for bed, his pale, gently muscular form being revealed inch by inch from the restraints of his clothes. Logan would open the door to his dressing room, Jasper would already be asleep and the room would be empty, he would let his eyes roam down his brother's naked form, pausing on the almost adolescent shape of his torso: his slim waist, his nipples hard and dark from the cold, the mousy brown patch of hair below his navel leading temptingly down to what lay below. He would look around, his eyes questioning Logan as he hurriedly tried to cover himself-

Logan stopped short. He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes against the overwhelming rush of lust.

"Sick, revolting mess," he breathed.

His brother's eyes were burning through his mind. Those wide, serious eyes; always questioning him and judging him. Once he had seen admiration there, even love but now there was only suspicion, unease and even vague resentment. He didn't understand why Logan locked him up like a prisoner, why he wasn't permitted to leave the castle gates, and was also strictly forbidden from interrupting Logan without requesting an audience or why he was hardly ever allowed alone with his brother without Logan's guards.

Logan fed the rumour that it was due to the possibility that the prince might attack him, but this was not so. He did it not to protect himself, but to protect his brother. As the months had passed and the straying thoughts, the alarmed moments of fantasy morphed into a solid, seething mass of consuming desire Logan had known that he didn't trust himself.

He came to a halt. He was outside his brother's door. He hadn't even been aware of walking or of the direction he had been heading. He stared blankly at the handle, knowing that just inches away was his brother's form, vulnerable and alone.

Except his brother was never vulnerable. He had a strength, an agility and an intelligence that Logan hadn't known men to be capable of. He had watched his brother train, seen how he handled the sword without the slightest effort and the pistol with an almost relishing enjoyment. His misleadingly slender, delicate physique masked a strength that was almost frightening. Fighting came as naturally to him as breathing and Logan was deluded if he thought his almost emaciated frame could restrain his brother.

He slid a hand into the pocket of his trousers and drew out a small phial. It was short and shaped like a cylinder with a round stopper and made of cloudy white glass. Inside was a translucent liquid, filling it almost to the top. The royal apothecary had not asked questions when Logan had request a strong sleeping draught. Not just because he wouldn't dare to, but also because no one could doubt that Logan needed a good night's sleep more than anyone in the castle. His pale, shadowed face was the outward proof of an inside affliction that was slowly killing him.

He raised a hand to the handle, but stopped himself at the last moment and instead knocked. He examined the bottle once more and slipped it back into his pocket.

There was the soft sound of footsteps from within and then his brother's face appeared, his hair slightly ruffled from lying down. His eyes widened and he threw the door open wider.

"Sire," he stammered, hastily bowing. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you wished to see me."

He was dressed only in a pair of white britches; they were delicate and clung to the length of his leg from the hip to the knee. His feet and chest were bare. Logan raised his head an inch, surprised by how gentle the release of heat was over his body. It seemed to slowly reach each of his fingers and each of his limbs.

"I thought it might be pleasant to share a nightcap with you," he said calmly, the manner of composure coming so easily to him after years of perfecting it. "We see so little of each other and my work takes up more of my time than I should like."

He saw surprise and dubiety pass simultaneously through his brother's eyes but he nodded and stood back to allow him inside. He hurried across to pull on a shirt. Logan watched, his stomach writhing and twisting inside of him, as the shirt fell down his brother's torso, covering his almost luminous frame.

He turned and turned the key in the lock and then went across to the small table where the always present decanter of wine was set next to two glass goblets. His brother came hastily to the table and pulled the stopper out, pouring the wine into the two glasses so quickly that much of it slopped over the side and sent a red puddle over the table cloth.

"I'm sorry," he grunted, handing Logan a glass.

Logan sat, watching his brother opposite him. Every line of his face was torturous; every line was like a knife being slid an inch deeper between his ribs.

The prince exhaled shakily and took a sip of wine. Logan felt the pressure between his legs tauten fiercely as a drop of wine dribbled down from his brother's lips. He hastily wiped it away, leaving a faint stain where it had been. Logan took an obligatory mouthful of wine and set it down.

"Did I wake you?" Logan asked, glancing towards the covers pulled back from the bed.

"No," his brother replied hastily, "I was just... just reading."

His nervousness was evident. For all of his disapproval and high ideals, he was still such a little boy when it came to politics. He might have been twenty but sometimes he reminded Logan of a child in a man's body. It was partly for that reason that he kept him securely behind the gates of the castle. But he knew this was not the only reason. There was a far less honourable reason that he couldn't allow him to wander unrestrained among the masses. He couldn't risk their taint upon him.

He watched as goosebumps crept along the prince's uncovered arms, the dark hairs standing on end in the cold. He shivered slightly in his seat.

"I do wish I could spend more time with you," Logan said, knitting his eyebrows regretfully. "Things are increasingly... difficult of late and I don't have time for leisure-"

"Did you hear?" his brother interjected, his eyes fixed on his brother. "There was an uprising in Bowerstone Industrial today. Five workers were shot by soldiers."

Logan was not taken aback by this. He knew his brother's weak, little fondness for the common people. He was like his father in that respect. "You shouldn't concern yourself with such tragedies," he replied. "There are things which not even you or I can prevent."

His brother's eyes narrowed. "You could prevent it," he said quietly, "if you allowed the people to have safer working conditions."

"Who feeds you this propagandist nonsense?" Logan said sharply, his temper flaring up in spite of himself. "Which mighty moralizer fills your head with these lies?" His brother turned away, his lips thin. "Is it that foolish butler of yours?" He paused. "Or that disloyal traitor Sir Walter?"

"It's no one," the prince snapped, his cheeks flushing.

He turned to Logan, his eyes filled with unspoken bitterness. How Logan would have loved to run his fingers through his thick hair and down that naive, exquisite face. He wanted to press his thumb against those lips, feel the damp softness against his skin-

He had to bite the inside of his cheek viciously to keep a betraying moan from forcing itself from his throat. He could feel he was hard. His sex was throbbing, _begging_ and his frame was burning.

He ran his eyes down the length of his brother's shivering arm. "You're cold," he remarked. "Go and get a coat."

"No, I'm fine," his brother replied, looking at him sullenly.

"You're shivering," Logan replied curtly. "Don't be a child, just go and get one."

It wasn't a request. His brother seemed to know it and rose silently. He disappeared into the dressing room which was set behind an unseen door along the wall.

Logan didn't wait for his doubts to set in, he drew the phial from his pocket and unstoppered it and then silently poured the contents into his brother's half-empty glass. For a moment there was a cloud of white and then it faded away until nothing but the very slightest film of dust was on the surface.

His brother returned, wearing an unbuttoned black dress coat. Logan watched expressionlessly as he sat and gripped his glass again, his eyes firmly averted from his brother's.

"Why did you come here?" he asked, not meeting his brother's eye.

"I told you-" Logan began.

"No," his brother abruptly looked at him, uncertainty and anger fighting for dominance in his eyes, "there is another reason. Do you think me a threat? Or do you wish to put me in my place?"

Logan smirked bitterly at him. "Do you not trust me at all? I am saddened, brother."

The prince watched him silently, soft, solemn brown eyes studying his withered face. Logan knew the answer to his question. His brother did _not _trust him; he would not have asked it if he hadn't been so certain of the answer. Somehow the terrible betrayal he intended seemed less unforgivable if he allowed himself to think that his brother had somehow known him capable of it.

"I don't wish to argue with you," the prince said, lifting the goblet to his mouth, "for I am sure to lose."

He took a deep mouthful. Logan watched his throat tremble as the liquid trickled down it. He lowered the goblet and nudged it away. He stared across the room in silent discontent.

Logan's heart, which had been so still until now, was hammering like a war drum against his chest. He didn't dare look away from his brother's face; he didn't dare believe that his plan had really come to fruition.

"I have a training session with Walter early tomorrow and I need to rest for it," his brother said at length, maybe not able to take the silence any longer.

Logan rose from the table. "Very well. I will leave you. Good night, brother."

He turned and walked to the door, every step as steady and strong as though he were walking into battle. His hand was on the doorhandle when he heard the crunch of glass hitting the stone floor. He slowly turned. His brother was hunched over the table, a hand gripping at his face. His back was moving rapidly with his breathing.

Logan glanced at the smashed goblet and then went to him. "Brother, what troubles you?"

The prince struggled to look at him, his skin was tinged with white. "I... I feel..." he shook his head weakly, his whole body shuddering and threatening to collapse.

Logan took him firmly about the waist, not allowing his mind to dwell on the unbearable contact between them. He dragged him to the bed, almost surprised that the prince did not struggle or protest. He sat him upright in the middle of the bed and stepped back, but the prince couldn't hold himself upright. The drug was rapidly incapacitating him and he fell limply backwards, not fighting or tossing his head but simply lying there with his eyes partly open. His breathing had reduced, his chest was moving slowly up and down as the draught gradually disarmed him limb by limb.

Logan stared at his brother's fallen body, his own breathing haggard and almost painful. He could feel his hair was ruffled; his lip stung from hitting it against his brother's shoulder, his heart was almost palpitating with longing.

Rapidly his body seemed to catch up with his mind and he found himself kneeling on his brother's bed and pulling roughly, desperately at his breastplate. It fell from his grip without his knowing where he had thrown it and he tore at the buttons on his waist coat and his shirt, pulling a handful of them from their seams.

"L-Logan..." his brother breathed, his eyes fluttering open. There was no expression in his gaze, his drugged mind didn't understand what his brother was doing as he moved his gloved hands to his belt, fumbling clumsily with the clasp.

"Shush now," Logan said softly, dropping his belt and pressing a trembling hand to his brother's pallid cheek, "sleep. Close your eyes."

His brother's eyelashes lowered, his lips parted as he seemed to be drifting deeper into a stolid state. He whimpered softly, the sound almost inaudible but sending a violent shiver up Logan's partly clothed form.

At last he moved his violently shaking hand to the buttons on his breeches. He undid all three, almost unconsciously. His fingers brushed against his erection. It was burning, it was throbbing with pain, with aggressive arousal.

He moaned aloud as he released himself from his restraint. His cock was straining monstrously away from his body; the head was wet, glistening already with his unrestrained, wanton need. He bit his lip viciously, grasping his brother's thin, delicate pyjamas and attempting to tear them down to his thighs. They wouldn't come; they were trapped around his hips. Logan was like a wild animal trying to tear them away. Finally, they gave. He heard the seams groan and tear as he yanked them around his brother's knees. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled them down completely and dropped them over the end of the bed.

He fell back, breathing helplessly as his brother's lower form was finally revealed to him. His pale thighs curved up gently towards the flaccid mound of his cock. There was a dark patch of pubic hair around his pubis, joining the beeline to his navel.

His brother made a weak sound, moving slightly on the bed. Logan pressed his lips against the prince's sex, letting his saliva coat it up and down the shaft. He raised his hand and gently fondled his brother's ball sac, rolling them carefully between his fingers. He let his mouth slide over the crown of his brother's cock, sliding his other hand up the inside of his thigh, stroking him gently.

He leant up, over his brother, not daring to put any weight on him, not trusting himself not to hurt him. He pressed his lips to his brother's motionless mouth, realising how terribly he was shaking all over.

"You tempt me so unbearably," he breathed, breaking away. "Such a beautiful thing. Why shouldn't you be mine?"

He could feel his brother's sex was straining against his thigh. His ministrations had awakened the part of him that not even the sleeping draught could dull. He rolled his hips down slowly so that their twin erections met, inch by torturous inch.

"Oh," he moaned, throwing his head back.

This was heaven. This was some glorious brand of heaven. He couldn't believe the pleasure; he couldn't believe that his abused body could physically feel such divine sensations.

Silently, he slid off of his brother's limp form and knelt between his brother's legs. He carefully spread them wider and then moved a finger down between the prince's thighs until he found the young man's taut, puckered entrance.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he slid a finger inside. His eyes almost rolled back inside his head at the sensation. The warm, unbearable tightness was perfect. He added another finger, scissoring them gently. He didn't want to hurt his brother, his treasure.

The boy's face was so clear, so calm. He was so beautiful when he was asleep. His breathing so soft and his features so untroubled. His mouth was flushed from Logan's kiss, his lips slightly swollen.

Logan removed his fingers and leant back. His brother's cock was still perfectly erect, the tip was beaded with pre-cum. It was flushed red and desperate for attention. Logan smirked, straightening up to his knees and running his callused thumb over the inflamed head.

His brother was a virgin. He knew it. He had ensured it. No one had touched him. Not Elise who thought herself so high in his brother's regard, or any other court whore. Always under the watchful eye of Logan's guards, the prince had never had the chance to touch himself, let alone whore himself off to the first worthless pig that came along. He was Logan's. His core, his soul, his body; all of it belonged to Logan.

Logan gripped his brother's thighs and slowly, carefully urged himself inside of him.

The sound which left his own mouth was like nothing he had ever heard. It was like the sound an animal would make; desperate and lost and wild. But the sensation dwarfed it into oblivion. It felt like pleasure had been injected directly into his veins, like some terrible, sublime spell had been put on him.

"Brother..." he hissed, tilting his head back and forcing his cock forward until his brother was impaled completely on him.

He was as limp as ragdoll. His head rocked to one side, his legs were heavy under Logan's grip, but the muscles around his entrance almost seemed to clench as he assaulted them. He closed his eyes tightly, wanting every ounce of pleasure to be clear and sharp.

When he began to rock, it was almost like his brother's body was rocking with him. He moved gently, slowly though every part of him wanted to fuck his brother raw, wanted to thrust himself so hard inside of him that he bled. He forced himself to restrain himself. He didn't want to hurt him, he didn't want him to be too sore in the morning.

He brushed a hand up the inside of his brother's thigh and gently slid his fingers around the rigid mound of his erection. He rubbed him in time with his thrusts, now a little rougher. He was getting so hot, so close. The pressure, the heat it was growing terribly inside of him.

His eyes fluttered open on their own accord, his brother's body was jerking flaccidly in rhythm with his movements. He gasped, his breathing becoming panting.

"Oh gods," he moaned, his nails embedding themselves in his brother's flesh.

He could hardly think. He needed to come. He needed to spend himself so badly.

"Yes," he groaned, impelling himself inside of his brother with a violence he hadn't been aware of possessing.

He felt his seed gush into his brother and drip sluggishly down his thighs. A strangled cry left his mouth, breaking the silence and echoing hollowly around the room.

He bent limply over his brother. He was covered in sweat. He had never felt so sullied. Every inch of him was covered in perspiration. He felt his brother come, his seed dribbling onto his own stomach. He stared at his brother's face. It was pale, motionless He was still asleep.

A slow, cold horror gently settled on him.

"Oh God," he croaked, pulling himself out of his brother and recoiling away from the bed.

There was semen and blood forming a small patch below his brother's entrance. His brother's stomach was smeared with the result of his own half-hearted orgasm. He was still wearing his pyjama shirt and his coat; his breeches were in a pile at the bottom of the bed. His brother, his treasure, the most precious thing he owned lay abused and trespassed upon like a broken toy.

Logan went across and picked up his own clothes from their place on the floor. He silently dressed, redoing the buttons which he hadn't damaged on his waistcoat and shirt and replacing his breastplate. He buttoned his breeches and secured his belt around his waist.

He left his brother's ravished figure on the bed and walked to the door, not looking back. The long corridor was empty; there were no guards here at this time of the night. The whole castle was silent. The whole castle was silent and still and ignorant to what had occurred inside of that room. If Logan wished it, it had never happened. If Logan said it, it was law. If Logan declared someone a liar, they were a liar.

He bent over where he was and threw up violently on the stone floor.

End

No, I will not pay your therapy bill.


End file.
